


Forgiveness

by Monsterunderkilt



Series: The Manse [3]
Category: Celebrities & Real People - Fandom, Real Person Fanfic - Fandom
Genre: F/M, real person fanfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-08
Updated: 2018-12-08
Packaged: 2019-09-14 07:58:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16909176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Monsterunderkilt/pseuds/Monsterunderkilt
Summary: In this episode, which I wrote recently (I have years worth of backstories), I’ve relegated Tom Hiddleston to the penalty box for over two years since falling for Taylor Swift (UGH GROSS!), but one night while watching Thor: Ragnarok, I suddenly decide that perhaps it’s time to forgive, if not forget. For now.





	Forgiveness

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first porn. It was purely for my own pleasure, but what the heck.

As I finish watching “Thor: Ragnarok” for only the second time ever, I am well aware of the surprisingly undeniable quickening in my loins. As I witness the two preternaturally sexy Asgardian brothers dick around on screen, I find my pulse grow stronger, and my heart melting into a ridiculous bucket of guilty goo.

 

Damn you, Loki, I think to myself. Damn your goddamn tight PVC pants and gloriously long greasy black hair. That look never actually got me going before. I just loved how well Thomas could act. But this movie.... fuck. Suddenly I couldn’t resist his Uber-goth appeal.

 

To hell with it.

 

I tell Alexa goodnight and retire to my darkened office. Stevezie and Jon and Stephen are sure to be out for the evening, enjoying some beers and a game of Coup together, like the adorable gang they are, but I still can’t bring myself to do this in the bedroom.

 

I walk up to the desk and gingerly place my hands upon the surface, gripping the edge as I hold my breath.

 

The door clicks shut behind me, and there’s a soft swish of fabric rubbing between two of the world’s most irresistible thighs, paired with the quietest barest footsteps.

 

“You summoned me, Madam?”

 

Damn you. I close my eyes as they roll back into my head with the terrible ecstasy of hearing his voice for the first time in an age. I turn around and deftly hop onto the desk, crossing my legs. I tap my fingernails crisply against the silence. I see his Greta Garbo blank stare in the meagre shadow light filtering in from the reflection of the pool water outside the window. I nod slowly. His eyes morph into those of a captured animal unsure of its fate. I beckon him toward me with an extended arm.

 

His step is light and elf-like, but his presence is gravitational. He reaches for my proffered hand, and I surprise myself by not hesitating to allow his hot fingers to slip between mine. We steady our blinking gazes as I take his other hand and squeeze it hard.

 

“If this gets out,” I say darkly, “This will be the last time.”

 

Thomas represses a smile of relief. The Brits are good at that. I thank him in my heart. He glances down at my legs as they uncross, his access to me very much granted. One step closer, and our body heat mingles.

 

“Not a soul will know,” he rasps.

 

I close my eyes as his face closes in, and as soon as I feel the warmth of his pale cheek beside mine, untouched, I lock my legs around his hips, knot my fingers in in his long black hair and bury his face against my neck. He nibbles me with a barely suppressed groan while I steal a long whiff of his hair—a deep, animalistic chypre scent redolent with leather.

 

Jesus. Jesus fucking Christ.

 

“You smell incredible,” he says, pulling away just enough before he sweeps up my mouth in a bruising kiss.

 

And that very moment, I realise I don’t want to stop him, and I only put up enough resistance to encourage him further. The energy of disappointment in his bad behaviour has sublimated into insatiable, discreet lust for a physical forgiveness by fire.

 

Still kissing, I gather the strength to push him away from me and toward the leather sofa, where I shove him backwards until he is sitting before me. I snap my fingers and point at his crotch. “Pants. Off.”

 

He yanks his belt off like a whiplash, his eyes never breaking with mine as he shoves his trousers down past his knees. No sooner are they around his ankles than I straddle him roughly, squeezing his thighs closed with my own. I toss off my shirt as I rub myself against his naked, thickening cock and gasp at the eagerness of him, aching.

 

Shit yes.

 

“Fuck me, you fucker.”

 

“Yes, Madam.”

 

The sound that reverberates through him as I take him inside me is otherworldly—a testicular whimper unlike anything I’ve ever heard out of him before. My eyes flutter and I breathe out for several seconds, squeezing him with my pelvic floor muscles just to extend that dragon-like moan in his chest. Oh dear lord.

 

“You owe me, you little shit,” I say.

 

He grits his teeth and nods. “Hmmm-mmm.”

 

I grind into him and my breath hitches. “Fuck all your shit right now. Fuck it.”

 

“Yyyesss, mum,” he whines.

I grip my nails into his shoulders with as much fierceness as he gently caresses my hips and breasts. “You’re lucky you’re a sexy fucking bastard!”

 

He nods and moans some more as he is teased with my quick hip thrusts. “I am a goddamn shit, mum. Do with me as you please.”

 

I finally allow a smile to surface and I chuckle as I breathe harder. “You don’t come until I do, Thomas, you fucker.”

 

He shuts his eyes and shakes his head vehemently. “Yes, mum!”

 

It’s only a long minute later that I extract my pleasure with a heart-wrenching whinge and a dozen or so hard thrusts that slam a grunt out of him every goddamn time, and only after I start to slow does he grimace and keen with his own brain-shattering orgasm. I watch him come down from his high with a toothy grin, still squeezing him inside me to torture and tantalise him to the last drop.

 

With a heavy sigh, he collapses forward, resting his sweat-infused head against my bare chest as I feel him soften and grow heavy with exhaustion. As a I gain control of my breath and allow my brain to settle into what has just happened, I feel a corner of my heart grow tender with the first touch of forgiveness. It’s warm and pliable, like freshly pulled candy drooping on a cold marble counter.

 

Almost without thought, my arms wrap around him of their own volition. He quickly wraps his lithe arms around my torso and breathes more steadily, as if he were awaiting my long-missed hug more than anything else.

 

Thomas rubs his cheek against my shoulder and sighs. “I’m sorry, mum,” he says with the tiniest hitch in his voice.

 

He doesn’t ask forgiveness. But I think I just gave it to him, even if only I know it. But then again, all my husbands will see my change of heart on my sleeve, and I decide not to fight the “I told you so” looks on their faces tomorrow. 

 

“You’re still a shit. But I like you anyway.”

 

Thomas lifts his head and smiles like a puppy.

 

That fucking grin tweaks my lust again and I place a hand over his face. “Damn you.” My hand falls away and I kiss him. “Damn you.”


End file.
